Cara glanced at the clock and frowned. Jack was even later than expected and she was becoming annoyed.

She’d picked up all the ingredients he’d asked for and now with them all sitting out on the counter glaring at her and tempting her nose with their aromas, her tummy was getting anxious. The plum tomatoes, the vegetables, the fresh herbs and garlic, and the parmesan. She’d felt a little funny about doing the shopping since this was his culinary masterpiece, but he was running late and she’d done it because…well…because he’d asked.

Damn it, but that man had way too much power over her. All he had to do was smile a certain way, crinkle up those big brown eyes and she’d probably iron his underwear for him if he told her he wanted it all warm and cuddly against that perfect little ass of his.

Swearing at herself, she launched from the couch and stalked to the window overlooking the city. She tried to concentrate on the skyline, on the flashing street lights and the blooming sunset rather than on the images of toned muscle and taut flesh that the last thought had brought to mind. Not that she’d ever actually touched that particular piece of his anatomy, but she had a very active imagination.

She hooked a few strands of midnight-black hair behind her ear.

Thank God he didn’t know he had that kind of power over her. For both their sakes. It kept her sane, kept him from swelling up with a fatal case of ego-itis. And it kept their friendship exactly where it was supposed to be. As a friendship.

She tapped the glass, checked her watch and grumbled as she pushed away from the doors and strode to the kitchen. She yanked open the fridge and pulled out the bottle of Chardonnay she’d decided she deserved. She popped off the wine keeper and poured herself another glass. She’d already downed one while she was waiting, and having two was never a good idea. She could drink two double-martinis and not get as loopy as she did on two glasses of wine.

But her mood was deteriorating, along with her waistline, and she needed something in her stomach.

Sipping slowly, she glared at the door and willed him to appear. It had been almost six months since they met at a party. There had been an instant and somewhat surprising connection, but the fact that both were involved with other people, had led them to pursue their relationship through friendship alone. The fact that both of their partners had voiced suspicion of the platonic liaison, had led them to a decision to keep the friendship…under wraps. Nothing physical had ever happened between them, and by all rights they had nothing to hide, but it had just seemed simpler that way.

It had been a month now since Cara had broken up with the possessive, controlling man her boyfriend had turned into. But since Jack still seemed happy and committed to the girlfriend he’d hung onto for the last year, she’d decided it would be easier if he didn’t know about her new on-the-market status.

God, she thought, the things I do for that man.

She continued sipping her wine, and thanks to it’s calming effects was feeling pretty good by the time she heard his key slip into the lock.

* * * * *

 Jack stepped through the door and slammed it behind him. Tonight was supposed to be fun and light, a break—an oasis in the desert of this particular week from hell, but the events of the last hour had put his temper in high gear, and his blood pressure near the boiling point. But he tamped it down, kept his eyes forward and walked determinedly toward the kitchen.

His colleague had left for a month in the Caymans and, with a wink and a grin, had given Jack the key to his place. Jack had rolled his eyes, but had immediately seen the possibilities and accepted.

For a week now, he’d been looking forward to it, looking forward to spending a few peaceful hours sipping wine, stirring sauce and trading stories with Cara—he glanced at her as he passed through the living room—and to admiring those big green eyes and those full lips that just begged for—

“Hi to you, too,” she said, the glass of wine resting on her lower lip. Her lips were the color of burnt sugar tonight, just a couple of shades darker than the tank top that sheathed her torso, revealing well-toned shoulders and arms and highlighting an enticing bit of externally engineered cleavage. Her words for a padded bra. He couldn’t help but smile.

“Sorry,” he said, his mood already lightening. “Lousy day.”

He tossed his keys onto the kitchen counter and noticed the bottle of Chianti. It had been left open to breathe, and a large-bowled wine glass had been set beside it. He poured himself a hefty dose.

“Thanks,” he said, sipping. “I needed that.”

She had already crossed the room, and was leaning against the counter, flaunting her denim-sheathed ass and swirling her wine glass as she studied him. Her stare always unnerved him just a little because he was never one hundred per cent sure what she was thinking. And there was one thing you could say about Cara—she was always thinking.

“And I need food.” She took a sip of wine and he noted the subtle flush in her cheeks. She’d already had at least one glass. He was sure of it. “I’m wasting away to nothing here.” She straightened and pulled up her top to show off her tummy. “See?”

Right there he made his first mistake—he looked. He looked and he noted the tan and the lightly toned abs, he took in the navel that peeked out above the belt of her jeans and the ribs that curved into a narrow waist. To his shock he had to suppress an urge to bend down and touch his lips just there. Right on her hip bone where—

He dragged his eyes away. “Honey, you’re about as far from nothing as it gets.”

She arched her eyebrows. “You saying I need to lose weight?”

He sipped from his wine, savoring the notes of oak and vanilla as he scanned the kitchen and took stock. “Not weight. Just attitude.”

She swirled her glass, hitched out a hip. “If I’m not mistaken you just implied that I’m a bitch. I think I’m offended.”

“Uh huh.” Another sip of wine and the subtle scent of her exotic perfume started to loosen the bolts of pain that had been pounding into his skull. “You love it.”

She shrugged, not bothering to deny it. “Being bitchy does have its…advantages.” She grinned. “So when’s dinner?”

* * * * *

Cara leaned against the island and sipped from her third glass of wine.

Jack glanced at her glass and scowled. “I don’t get it. How do you stand it?”

She batted her eyelashes, knowing exactly what he was referring to. She’d never been able to acquire a taste for red wine and, being a good Italian, he found most white to be insipid.

“What?” she retorted. “The wine? Or you?”

He opened his mouth to retort, but she wasn’t finished. “Both are full-bodied and aromatic, and yet completely lacking in personality. It’s hard to tell the difference.”

He pointed a spoon at her. “The difference is, I’m the one who can take you over my knee if you keep that up.”

“Is that a threat? Or a promise.”

“We’ll see.” Chuckling, he returned to his task. “We’ll see.”

She didn’t bother to suppress her own chuckle. She was feeling more relaxed than she had in a very long time, and the world was looking all rosy and soft. Jack, on the other hand was looking all sexy and hard—in all the right places.

She sighed, studying the way his biceps flexed as he stirred the pan of sauce, the way the black T-shirt highlighted a finely sculpted torso, and the way his jeans hugged his crotch—

“You’re staring.”

She jerked her eyes back up to his. They were crinkled a little at the corners and dammit she hated what that did to her tummy. “I was not.”

“Were too.”

Because she needed something to do, she poured herself a little more wine. “Why would I be staring at something that I have absolutely no interest in?”

He set aside the wooden spoon that he’d been using for the sauce, and took the lid off the pasta pot to check if it was boiling. Apparently it wasn’t, because he replaced it again. “No interest? I thought you were very…interested.”

She rolled her eyes. “I thought I was once, but I got over it. It was a 24-hour affliction. You know…kind of like the flu.”

“Uh huh. So why were you staring at my fly?”

“Because it has tomato sauce on it.” Good. Quick thinking. She was rather proud of herself for that.

“What?” He looked down. “It does not.”

“Sure it does. Right…” Succumbing to impulse and taking advantage of his diverted attention, she quickly dipped a finger into the bubbling sauce. “…there.” The touch was quick but firm, and it sent a little bolt of electricity skittering up her arm.

She snatched back her hand, startled and more than a little aroused by the sensation. She stuck her finger in her mouth to hide the evidence.

Very slowly he lifted his gaze and glared at her, watching intently as she continued to suck her finger. “Very funny. Did you burn yourself?” His voice was low and intense and it throbbed in the pit of her gut.

What’s going on? Although their relationship existed mainly through the Net and the telephone they had managed to get together three times in the last six months. Sure they’d shared a few dirty jokes, traded a few good-natured jibes and a little sexual innuendo, but there had never been this level of sexual tension. And she wasn’t sure why. What was different tonight?

She laughed, but it felt strained. “Believe me, even your crotch isn’t that hot.” She pulled her finger out of her mouth. “Oh. Sorry. You meant the sauce.”

“No.” To her surprise he grabbed her hand. “I didn’t. Now, let me see.”

“It’s fine.” She tried to tug her hand out of his grip that was entirely too warm and firm for her own good.  “Just finish making the—” Oh God.

He’d taken her finger into his own mouth where it was warm and wet, and he was suckling the tip. And his tongue—her eyes wanted to roll back into her head—his tongue was doing things. Sinful things. Things that made her want to sink to her knees and—

And then he was gone. She blinked, trying desperately to re-orient herself. At last she focused on him, calmly stirring the sauce. “It’s fine,” he announced, his voice tight. “Your finger’s fine.”

She was immediately—and completely irrationally—irritated. He’d found a vulnerability and taken advantage of it, and she didn’t like that.  “Oh, so you’re a doctor now? Or maybe a divine healer. One touch of your tongue and I’m a new woman?”

“Don’t you know it, babe.” He waggled his eyebrows and then abruptly turned his attention to the pot of water that had begun to bubble and churn. “Good. The water’s boiling. Where’s the rotini?”

“Rotini?”

“Yeah.  Rotini.”

She blinked, a little unsettled by the shift in mood. “I don’t know. How the fuck would I know?”

“You bought it. Where did you put it?”

She narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean? I didn’t buy any rotini.”

He glanced around the kitchen and for the first time she noticed the subtle flush to his skin and—yes, his erection that was straining at the tomato sauce-stained fly. He’d been too distracted to think of wiping away the sauce. A tiny spear of triumph lanced through her.

When he turned back to face her, his eyes were smoldering. “Well, how the hell am I supposed to make rotini verduri without fucking rotini?”

She stepped closer, caught a whiff of his cologne. “You didn’t ask me to buy any fucking rotini!”

“I didn’t think I had to. I thought it would be obvious.”

She could feel the steam building in her chest. “Well, maybe if you’d left work on time and had done the shopping yourself, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“I did leave work on time.”

“Then why were you so late? We get together little enough as it is, you’d think—”

“I was in an accident, for chrissake. Jesus.”

He turned away from her and started rooting through cupboards and drawers.

She blinked. “An accident? Oh. Jack, I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He slammed yet another cupboard door. “Fine. Major dent in the Toyota, though. Gonna be an insurance nightmare. Stupid women drivers think they own the road. Ah ha!” He pulled out a bag of large shell pasta. “This’ll do.” And he poured half the bag into the pot.

She glared at him, the tension coiling up inside her like a spring. “Women drivers. All women drivers.”

“Yeah,” he said absently, stirring. “Supreme rich bitches that get their way at home, think they own the road and do whatever they please and to hell with everyone else.”

“So only women act like that on the road, is that it? Men are incapable of being assholes when it comes to driving.”

At last he seemed to sense the tight rope he was walking. He stopped stirring. “I didn’t say that.”

“Oh, I disagree. I think you did. Maybe not directly, but—”

“Hey! What’s your problem? I thought we were going to get together for a little conversation and some good food and—”

“My problem? My problem is I’m sick of hearing you blame every single problem we have on our highways on rich-bitch-control-hungry women drivers. I’ve been listening to that rant for six months now. It’s a load of crap and I don’t feel like sitting back and taking it anymore.”

“I’m not talking about you. What do you care?”

“How do I know that? You never said, ‘All women drivers except you!’ I just know it’s a load of crap, that’s all. Men can be just as idiotic on the roads as women. You’re point of view is just skewed.”

“Skewed? I know what I see. How is that skewed??”

She stepped closer. “Men see what they want to see. They want to be superior and resent any implication that they’re not. It’s as simple as that.”

He lifted the wooden spoon, coated with spicy, red sauce. “Oh, so now you’re lumping all men together. It’s okay for you to do,” he touched her nose with the spoon, “but not me, is that it?”

She determinedly ignored the dot of sauce on her nose, knowing she looked silly but not caring. “I didn’t say that.”

“I think you did.”

“Well…” She picked up the other wooden spoon that he’d set out to stir the pasta, dipped it in the sauce and touched his nose with it. “I disagree.”

“Stop that,” he growled.

“Stop what?” She touched his cheek. “Messing with your sauce? Or threatening your male insecurities?” Then the other cheek.

His hand snaked out and grabbed her wrist, his grip hard and commanding. She moved closer in spite of herself. Close enough to feel the heat of his body and catch another whiff of his cologne.

“I don’t have any insecurities,” he whispered.

“Everybody has insecurities.” She licked her lips, noticing that he watched the motion of her tongue. “I think you should let go.”

“I think you should wipe the sauce off my face.”

She could barely breathe and wondered just how it was that all the oxygen had suddenly been sucked out of the room. But despite the thin air and her pounding heart, she managed to say, “All right.”

She stood on tip-toes, leaned in close, and with a slow, lazy indolence licked the sauce from his left cheek. She savored the gentle rasp of a day’s worth of stubble, the taste of tomato sauce and herbs—and the heat of his skin against her tongue.

She took a moment to suck his cheek bone…just to make sure she got it all.

She pulled away, just enough to see his face and notice the rapid rise and fall of his chest. “There. Should I do the other?”

He said nothing, just watched her with smoldering eyes. She took that as assent. She performed the same ritual on the other cheek, only this time felt the need to brace a hand against his chest for support. Beneath the firm plane of muscle, she could feel the rapid beat of his heart against her palm.

When she was done, she withdrew but was surprised to find his hand still latched around her wrist, the grip even tighter than before. She lifted her gaze to his.

“Jack, I’m hungry. Don’t you think—”

He released her wrist, wrapped an arm around her waist, pulled her in tight and crushed her mouth beneath his own, the kiss fierce and hungry.

Her head told her this was a mistake, but all her body seemed aware of was the heat of his lips, the taste of his tongue, the hardness of his chest against her breasts—and the enticing ridge of his erection against her cleft.

Pushing him away now would be sexual suicide. And she’d never been that self-destructive.

* * * * *

Surrender.

Odd, but that was the word that came to Jack’s mind as he plundered her mouth and pressed that tight little body against his. He’d heard of women melting against a man, but he’d never actually…experienced it before. After a brief moment of surprise and tension she’d relaxed, to the point that she felt almost liquid in his arms. Her lips were soft, her mouth compliant. A little startled by the desire that kind of submission kindled in him, he pulled away—just as her arms sneaked around his waist and her fingers dug into his back.

She gazed up at him, those wide green eyes glazed and blinking.

He smiled, dipped his head and licked the dot of sauce from her nose.

“Jack,” she said, her hands creeping beneath his T-shirt. “I thought—”

He kissed her again, couldn’t resist—didn’t want to resist. He fisted his hand in her hair and relished the soft little groan of pleasure that vibrated through her chest, and the tiny pricks of her nails in the flesh of his back. He felt the gentle nudge as she tilted her hips against his, breathed in the sweet, subtle scent of her perfume, but it was her mouth that held him. The absolute resignation of it, the slow, sensual movement of her lips under his. Jesus. A man could lose himself here.

He pulled away again, startled by the thought.

“Hmm,” she breathed, shifting her lips to his throat. “I thought you didn’t want me.”

“I never said that,” he said, the strands of midnight black drizzling through his fingers.

Her nails skittered up his spine as her teeth nipped at his skin. “I could have sworn you did.”

“Well, you definitely said you didn’t want me.”

“I did?”

His hand cupped a breast, massaged. “Yeah. Not two minutes ago.”

“Oh.” She lowered her gaze, watched him touching her. “I guess I lied.”

“Yeah.” He slipped his hand inside the neckline of the halter top, found soft skin and a straining nipple. “I guess you did.” He rolled her nipple lightly between his thumb and forefinger, noticing how the flush in her cheeks deepened and her breathing accelerated.

“Oh for God’s sake,” she exclaimed, suddenly reaching for the hem of his T-shirt. She tugged it up and he allowed her to pull it over his head. “Enough with the mystery. I—” Her palms whisked across his chest, down over his belly. “Oh. My.”

He grinned. “Do I pass?”

“Pass? Babe, you just moved to the top of the class.” She flicked her tongue over a nipple, explored his abs with her hands. “Mind if I indulge myself a bit here? Worship at the temple of Jack?”

Her hand slipped inside the waist of his jeans, but he grabbed her wrist. “Actually, yes. I do mind,” he said, silently assuring himself that she would get her chance. Soon.

But for now…

“Me first.” He found the hem of her top and whisked it over her head, leaving only the bit of fabric and lace that so flattered her breasts.

She made no protest and he wasted no time popping the button of her jeans. He pushed back the denim and smiled. “Black lace panties?” His fingers skimmed the silky material.

“Actually,” His hand slipped between her thighs, found the material damp and inviting, “it’s a thong. I…” A deep breath that made her chest shudder slightly. “I only wear thongs.”

“Really? You never told me that.” He peeled away the jeans and allowed them to drop to the floor, confirming her story and skimming his hands over the firm swell of her bare cheek.

“You never…”

He massaged her clit through the material.

“…asked. Jack. Please.”

He slipped inside, found shaved skin, wet folds and heat. “Is this what you want?”

“No. I mean—” Her hands gripped his bare shoulders, the strength in those slender fingers surprised him.

  He dipped inside her.

“—yes. I mean—” She began to squirm.

“What’s wrong?” He wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her firm and relishing her restlessness.

“N-nothing. I just want…” One hand dropped to the waist of his jeans and slipped inside. Her fingers closed around his cock and he had to stifle a groan.

“That? Is that what you want?”

“Mm hmm.”

And they’d get to that, but for now…

“Well, I want this.” And with one quick motion he tugged down her thong and lowered his head.

* * * * *

Cara’s bare backside bumped back against the counter, but she was grateful for the support. She needed it in light of the things—the sinful things—Jack’s tongue was doing to her pussy.

She sank her fingers into his hair to anchor herself to him. She savored the heat of his mouth, the pressure of his hands gripping her ass, and admired the way the muscles of his back and shoulders bunched and played beneath his skin.

She was completely lost in him when she heard him mumble. “This is no good.”

She blinked, confused. It sure seemed ‘good’ to her. “It isn’t?”

“No. It isn’t.” Suddenly his hands bracketed her waist and she felt herself being lifted. He set her down on the counter, parted her thighs and stepped between them. But then he hesitated, frowning. “Jesus. You’ve still got your bra on.”

She skimmed a hand down the plane of his belly, through the fine dusting of hair to rest on his belt. “And you’ve still got your jeans on.”

“Oh.” He glanced down. “So I do.” But it took him only a moment to remedy it. He popped his button, and slid the denim and briefs down over his hips.

“Hey,” she protested, even as the sight of his fully erect cock stole her breath. “That was my job.”

“And this is mine.” He stepped closer, close enough that his cock nudged her pussy, torturing her as he reached around her back and undid the clasp of her bra. The lingerie fell to the floor leaving them both nude. Gloriously nude.

She wanted to touch him, everywhere, all at once. His face, shoulders, chest, back, ass. And she wanted to taste him, too. Take him deep and—

He moved in close, his cock slipping inside her and sending little bolts of electricity zinging to her toes. Her nipples grew hard, tingling with anticipation.

“Oh.” She sucked in a breath. “I thought you had some other…business to finish.”

“I changed my mind.” He palmed a breast, eased in a little further. “If that’s okay.”

She gave in to instinct and wrapped her legs around his hips, drawing him in deep, pulling his body close. “Okay doesn’t quite cover it.”

His mouth found her throat and proceeded to feast on it, even as he thrust deep, withdrew, thrust again.

The sensations were overwhelming—his mouth on her skin, his hands clutching her ass, his cock inside her—all that sent little quivers through her gut and made her fingers curl. With every thrust her pulse quickened and the pressure built.

Sweat slicked his back, but she just held on tighter, riding the waves of pleasure that rolled over her and using Jack as her anchor.

His mouth left her throat. “Jesus,” he murmured, the rhythm building, the pressure growing. “Sweet fucking Jesus.” He crushed her lips against his again and thrust so deep she felt something inside her give.

Although the pressure had been building, the climax seemed to come out of nowhere, slamming into her with enough force to knock the breath out of her. He shifted his hands, supporting her back and holding her tight as he rode the waves of her pleasure and gave himself over to his own release.

* * * * *

Cara’s head was resting in the cradle of his shoulder and her tongue flicked out to taste his sweat.

All that could be heard was the rasp of their breathing and the soft bubble and pop of the sauce on the stove.

Her tummy must have heard it as well because it broke the mood with a loud, and completely unromantic, growl.

He chuckled.

She pulled away slightly and looked down at her belly, noting that his cock was still buried inside her. She felt a little rush of warmth. “I…uh…guess I’m still hungry.”

Jack smoothed a hand down her tummy, the touch firm and appreciative. Those hundreds of crunches had paid off. Thank God.

“Yeah,” he said, his hand creeping lower. “Me too. Whoever said you could live on love was completely—” He stopped, looked at her, his eyes wide. “I mean…I didn’t mean I’m in love—”

She pressed a finger to his lips and grinned. “That’s okay, Jack.  I don’t love you either.”

“Whew” He chuckled nervously, raked his fingers through his hair. “Dodged that one.”

She skimmed her fingers over his shoulders, over sculpted muscle and sinew. “I do love your shoulders, though.” And your chest and your abs and…just about every other part of you. But God knew he didn’t need to hear that. So instead, she eyed the sauce that was bubbling. “And I think I might just be in love with your cooking.”

He arched one eyebrow. “Smells good, doesn’t it?”

“Mm hmm. Do I get a taste? That’s the only way to know if the…chemistry is right, after all.”

He nuzzled her throat as his finger cruised over her clit. “Are we talking food chemistry or…sexual chemistry.”

She arched her neck. “Food. I hardly think the sexual thing is in question.”

“Mmm.” His tongue traced her collar bone. “Good point. Guess we need to find out.”

And then he was gone.

He moved away, leaving her perched precariously on the edge of the counter, and grappling for balance. “Hey. You could help me down, you know. That would be the gentlemanly thing to do.”

He tossed her a glance over his shoulder and arched an eyebrow in a way that made her laugh. It eloquently said, I’m no gentleman, and that’s exactly what you like about me. It was the truth. There was no denying it.

“I don’t think so,” he said. “You stay put. I like keeping you a little…off balance.” Another pithy truth. If only he wasn’t so darn good at it.

He was already draining the pasta into a colander in the sink. He was bathed in steam, nude and still gleaming with sweat. Nude cooking. She could get used to this.

Her fingers gripped the edge of the counter. “I’m just supposed to sit here. Naked. And just watch you work?”

“Not exactly.” He returned the pot of pasta to the stove and turned off the sauce. He picked up a fork and speared a large shell.  He swirled it through the sauce, scooping up a chunk of vegetable as he went. He lifted it, steaming and dripping to her mouth.

She could smell it—the spices and the heat, but she hesitated. "What is that?"

He frowned. "Huh?"

"On the fork. What kind of vegetable?" She'd bought all the vegetables he'd requested and had watched him slice and dice and prepare. Onions and peppers, mushrooms and zucchini. It smelled and looked wonderful, and she anticipated tasting all of it. All except..."Is that a piece of eggplant?"

He arched one eyebrow. "Yes. Why?"

“I guess maybe I should have told you this when you asked me to buy it, but…”

“But what?”

She wrinkled her nose. Couldn't help it. “Well...I hate eggplant.”

Another arched eyebrow that could have withered egg plant on its vine. Did eggplant grow on a vine? Who knew? Who the hell cared?

 “Have you tasted it?” he asked.

“Of course. I’m not a picky three-year-old, you know.”

“Uh huh.” He moved it closer to her lips. “Well, you’ve never tasted my eggplant.”

She tilted her head coyly. “I’ve never heard it put quite that way but…” She stroked his semi-erect cock. “…if you insist.”

“Eat!” he ordered, although she could see the laughter in his eyes.

She opened her mouth obediently, just slightly aroused by his commanding tone and dominating stance.

The warm morsel touched her tongue and flooded her senses with flavor. She closed her mouth and chewed, slowly, enjoying the subtle textures and flavors as well as the way Jack’s eyes gleamed as he watched her.

She swallowed.

“So?” he asked.

“I'm not sure. I think I need another taste. Just to be sure. These things can’t be rushed, you know.”

His eyes remained on her as he speared another shell, sought out another hunk of eggplant, and scooped up some more sauce. He held it to her mouth but before he could feed her, she grabbed his wrist. “Aren’t you having any?” She accepted the food but this time held the shell lightly between her lips, daring him.

With a sly smile he leaned in and nibbled lightly at the pasta.

She just held it there, allowing the sauce to dribble down her chin as he worked his way closer. The electricity built until, when his lips finally touched hers, she just about burst out of her skin.

The kiss was long and deep, saturated with a kind of spice that had nothing to do with fresh basil and oregano. The flavor of the sauce mingled with the taste of their desire and by the time he broke the kiss, her hunger had peaked again.

He looked down at her and smiled. “You’ve got sauce on your chin.” And then he proceeded to lick it away, one hand resting lazily on a breast.

“Jack?” she breathed, as his tongue toyed with her sanity and her nipple hardened against his palm.

“Mmm?”

“I’ll admit it.”

He kissed her cheek, nibbled her ear lobe. “Admit what?”

“I’ve never tasted anything like your eggplant.”

He chuckled. “Does that mean you want more?”

Again she reached for his cock and this time found it erect and throbbing. “Baby, I want it all.”

* * * * *

Jack lay beneath her, hands stacked beneath his head, eyes half-lidded, but his smile remained just a little bit cocky as he watched her. “Is this what you call worshipping at the temple of Jack?”

“Shut up,” she retorted, even as her hands continuing working the olive oil into his pecs and shoulders. Considering the menu for the evening, olive oil had seemed…appropriate.

She’d already finished massaging his back and ass and had thoroughly enjoyed every minute. With just a little oil remaining on her fingers she skimmed his abs, her touch light and teasing. The hair lifted slightly at her touch and she took some satisfaction from that.

She smiled. “If I could take that back I would.”

“You didn’t mean it?”

Her hands crept around to grab his ass. She felt his muscles tense, and she almost sighed aloud with satisfaction. “I didn’t say I didn’t mean it,” she said as her tongue darted out to taste the tip of his cock. She made a lazy circle and then traced a line down its length. He still tasted vaguely of sauce, or maybe it was her imagination. “I’m just saying I never should have said it.”

“Oh. Well, if—”

The words died on his tongue as she took him deep in her mouth and raked her teeth lightly down his length. She toyed and tasted, suckled and stroked. It never ceased to amaze her how different men could taste, and the different reactions that taste could elicit in her. Not that she’d had experience with that many but—

His hands gripped her shoulders and tore her away from her task.

“Hey!” she said, even as she landed on her back with him on top of her. He gripped her wrists, holding them firmly against the mattress as he glared down at her, those brown eyes intense and unreadable. He parted her thighs with his knee and settled in between them. His erection nudged her pussy.

She had to work at finding enough saliva to swallow. “Was I doing something wrong?”

In response he lowered his head and languished a long slow kiss on her lips. His tongue slipped past her defenses and every one of her muscles turned molten.

“I guess not,” she breathed when she’d finally regained the use of her tongue.

He moved off her and she was suddenly cold. “Roll over.”

She blinked and frowned. “Why?”

He grinned. “It’s my turn to do a little worshipping.”

Intrigued, she complied and rolled over onto her belly.

He parted her legs and kneeled between them.

“Ah,” he said, his fingers skimming her ass. “I haven’t seen nearly enough of that tonight.”

“Well, all you had to do was ask.” But the words were little more than a murmur, as she was gradually losing herself in the motions of his hands on her hips and ass. “But…”

“But what?”

“Is that all there is to worship about me?”

“Of course not.”

“Well, then?”

 “I don’t know.” His tongue traced a curve as his fingers slipped into a crease.  “Are you begging for compliments?”

“B-b-begging?” she sputtered. “I was not begging. I just—”

“Sure sounded like begging to me.”

Her back arched in indignation as she struggled to sit up. “You’ve got a lot of nerve—”

He pushed her down easily, and held her there. “Easy now.” She could hear the sound of his distinctive throaty chuckle.

She squirmed beneath him but, to her infinite irritation, remained pinned. “I don’t appreciate being talked down to. Let me go!”

“No. I wasn’t talking down to you. I was just stating a fact.”

“I was not begging!” Her voice had grown louder and her heart rate had increased. She knew she was overreacting, but didn’t care. “If you were a gentleman in the first place and complimented me, then I wouldn’t have had to ask!”

“I thought you didn’t like gentlemen.”

She squirmed with renewed vigor. “If you don’t get off me this minute so I can slap you properly—” The rest of the sentence was lost on a groan as his teeth sank into her shoulder and he began to trail his tongue down her back.

“I…I said…”

“Shh. Listen.” He nibbled on a hip. “Full, perfect lips.” Caressed. “Big, green eyes.” Squeezed. “And surprisingly sexy shoulders. How’s that?”

Then she felt his lips touch the small of her back and felt another part of her melt. “That’ll do.” She sighed. “Now, was that so hard?”

“Getting you all riled up? No. Not hard at all.”

Then she heard him chuckle, and she understood. “You son of a—”Again, she tried to roll over, and he pinned her easily.

“I like it when you’re angry.” His breath fluttered across the small of her back. “It makes you all flushed and excited.” His tongue traced the crease of her ass. “And passionate.”

Her eyes fluttered closed. “Oh. Really?”

“Really.” His tongue…what it was doing…should be illegal. “Forgiven?”

“Mm hmm.” She was having trouble remembering what she was forgiving him for, but she just knew at that moment she was quite content to be where she was and enjoy what he was doing. “Sure.”

He paused, his fingers grazing her left hip. “You know…I’ve never looked that closely at your tattoo before.

“Oh. Right.” She had to struggle to gather her thoughts. “Do you like it?”

“It’s very different. Original.” While his tongue traced her tattoo, his fingers slipped between her thighs, and deep inside her.

“Oh.” She groaned. “Uh…it’s a dragonfly. Do you like it?”

He was massaging her clit and she had no idea how she was managing to carry on a conversation. “Love it. It’s colorful and sassy.” He nipped at her skin. “Just like you.”

“Oh. Wow. You’re good.”

He chuckled. “Lift your hips, babe. It’s time to let me in.

* * * * *

He thrust in quickly, relishing all that soft, wet heat. He savored the taste of her honey-colored skin, the scent of her hair, and the whisper of flesh against flesh. She lifted her hips to meet him, and he released her wrists, choosing instead to entwine his fingers with hers as they rode the wave of pleasure together. His thrusts weren’t gentle and they weren’t sweet, but she received each one with relish, always ready for the next and eager for more.

She guided his hand lower, beneath her belly, and his fingers covered hers as she massaged herself toward climax.

When she came she milked him to his own orgasm and the sounds of their mutual release filled the room.

He collapsed on top of her, both of them bathed in sweat and the remnants of their desire.

After a moment he heard her whisper. “So?”

He took a deep breath and thought that maybe he should roll off. “So what?”

“Is it good?”

He grinned and whisked a kiss across her cheek. “Yeah, it’s good.  It’s all really good.”

* * * * *

Cara was snuggled up to him, one leg swung across his hips, her head resting on his shoulder as she traced lines through the hair of his chest. It was almost time to go, and she was already dreading the moment she had to get in her car and drive away.

“What was it, do you think?” she asked, her voice little more than a whisper.

“What was what?”

“What was…different tonight? What was the spark that set us off?”

His hand skimmed her back and rested on her hip. “You know that. I don’t have to tell you, do I?”

Half her mouth curved into a smile. “The argument.  The thing about women drivers. Is that all it takes? A few heated words and suddenly we’re animals?”

“We’re always animals; it’s just a matter of…”

“Discovering our inner beast?”

“Yeah.” He nodded approval. “That’s good. I like that.”

She smiled, too but then hesitated. Her hand paused, settling softly on his belly. “So, what do beasts do after they come together and mate furiously, Jack?” For the first time she allowed herself to think about what they’d done, and how this could hurt the woman that Jack cared about. “Where do they go from here?”

His hand found hers and their fingers laced together. His sigh was heavy and laced with sadness. “I’m sorry, Cara. I should never have put you in this position. I never wanted to come between you and Brett.”

She smiled and kissed his chest. “That’s so sweet, but I’m the one who should be apologizing. You and Jennifer have been together a lot longer. I should know better. I should—”

“We broke up.”

She blinked. Blinked again. And then willed herself to look at him. “Pardon?”

“About a month ago. It just didn’t feel right anymore.” He shrugged. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want it to become…awkward between us. And now look at me.” Suddenly he rolled away from her and got out of bed. He walked to the window and gazed outside. “So much for noble intentions.”

She was still having trouble absorbing what he was saying. It didn’t seem real. “A month ago? You broke up with her a month ago?”

“Yeah.” He hung his head. “I just didn’t know—”

Laughter swelling in her chest she launched from the bed and crashed into him with enough force to make him stagger backward. She wrapped her arms around him and allowed the relief to bubble out of her.

“What the hell?” He gripped her arms and tried to pry her off him. “Have you lost your mind?”

She shook her head and tried to catch her breath. “No. Not at all. In fact…” She stepped away and gazed up at him. “…I think I just may have found my heart.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Are you saying you’re going to leave Brett for me? I don’t know, Cara. I’m not sure how I feel about that.”

“No!” She grabbed his hand and led him back to the bed. “No, it’s not that at all.” They sat down and he continued to watch her, expectantly. “I broke up with Brett, too.”

His eyes went wide. “What? When?”

“About a month ago.”

“Fuck.” He flopped back on the bed. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”

She rolled her eyes and he nodded understanding.

“We’re a pair, aren’t we?”

“Yeah.” She lay down beside him, and snuggled in close. “We have been for a while. Maybe now we can try being a couple instead.” She put a finger to his chin and turned his head to face her. “But so’s we’re clear. I still don’t love you. You’re a pain in the neck, Jack. And if it wasn’t for your talent with eggplant I’d be out that door like a shot.”

He laughed. “So you like eggplant after all?”

She laughed. “Only your eggplant, Jack.  Only yours.”